


Things People Do

by Sealie



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-31
Updated: 1999-03-31
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: Yes, I know that these due South fics are coded incorrectly. Yes, I know that there are rampant Briticisms. Yes, I know that the spelling is very flawed in places. Yes, I know that the grammar iswrong.If you read the fic, I don’t need you to tell me these things.I was a very little, new fanfic writing/posting fan when I wrote these stories. I hadn’t learned some of the methods of managing my dyslexia, which I use everyday today with varying degrees of success. I hadn’t learned a lot of things.I tried several times over the years to get the due South archivist to delete them to no avail. When I saw them uploaded to Ao3 -- after sitting staring in abject horror at the screen -- I also considered claiming and deleting them myself, but they are part of my history, even though they generally only received nasty comments.I’m leaving them here for the time being. Remember, we were all new and inexperienced at some point.





	Things People Do

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know that these due South fics are coded incorrectly. Yes, I know that there are rampant Briticisms. Yes, I know that the spelling is very flawed in places. Yes, I know that the grammar is _wrong_. 
> 
> If you read the fic, I don’t need you to tell me these things. 
> 
> I was a very little, new fanfic writing/posting fan when I wrote these stories. I hadn’t learned some of the methods of managing my dyslexia, which I use everyday today with varying degrees of success. I hadn’t learned a lot of things.
> 
> I tried several times over the years to get the due South archivist to delete them to no avail. When I saw them uploaded to Ao3 -- after sitting staring in abject horror at the screen -- I also considered claiming and deleting them myself, but they are part of my history, even though they generally only received nasty comments.
> 
> I’m leaving them here for the time being. Remember, we were all new and inexperienced at some point.

Things People Do

Okay, standard disclaimer. **This is definitely a PG - possible even a 15 rating for _ **daaark**_ content and bad language with violence**. Thanks to Cheryl for the advice on American expletives (any clangers are my own). 

# Things People Do.

By Sealie Scott 

Ray Vecchio, Chicago detective, pulled his car to a stop as near as humanly possible to the entrance of the police precinct and sighed deeply. Benton Fraser cast a sideways glance at his friend, today he seemed slightly off colour and introspectively silent, very strange, everybody usually knew why Ray was upset. 

"We're here." Ray said snarkily. 

Fraser decided not to press the issue, it might be simply that Ray had not had enough coffee at breakfast. He climbed out of the car being careful not to scuff the paint work. And then darted ahead to get the door for a young police officer who was frog-marching her charge into the precinct. As he touched the handle, the door slammed open catching him squarely in the chest. Fraser was bowled backwards into the police woman and they collapsed in a tangle of limbs at the bottom of the steps. Momentarily stunned, Fraser heard a strangely muffled Ray swear and then footsteps rapidly receding. Curled up in a very tight ball Fraser watched as feet appeared in view and then disappeared out of view. Realising that fellow police officers were jumping over him in pursuit of the criminal Fraser decided to keep very still. _Although there seems to be an awful lot of people_ , Fraser noted. 

"Fraser? Benton?" Elaine Bebriss tried tentatively. 

Fraser uncurled and allowed Elaine to help him to his feet. The young police officer was standing to the side of the entrance swearing volubly: something about this being her first arrest and they never told you _anything_ during training. 

"Benton, are you okay?" Elaine waved her hands in front of his eyes. 

"Yes." Fraser eyed the police woman, he felt kind of responsible; if he hadn't moved to open the door. 

"He can't get very far! He's got handcuffs on!" The young woman wailed at a passer-by who was watching the police officers running in different directions with a wide grin on his face. "My partner's gonna kill me." 

"Excuse me," with Elaine at his elbow Fraser limped over to the chagrined police officer. 

"Yes?" The woman assessed the mountie and civilian aid. "Can I help you?" 

"No, no, no," Fraser fudged, "I...er..thought...did I?" 

"Are you all right, Kirsty?" Elaine interjected on Fraser's behalf. 

"Yeah, fine. Apart from loosing my first arrest. Officer Alan's going to be really nasty about this." 

"I didn't mean to bump into you." Fraser said unnecessarily. 

"That's okay," she said dejectedly, "if it hadn't hit you it would have hit me. Oh, no!" She suddenly began to straighten up her uniform and then slunk over to her partner. 

"Bit of a martinet." Elaine quietly whispered to Fraser in response to his unasked question. "And he doesn't like women." 

The tall police officer was telling his young trainee _exactly_ what she had not done _correctly_ in a penetrating voice. He shook a pair of unlocked handcuffs in her face. The woman's face blanched white, the colour preceding flight or fight. Before Fraser could intercede Welsh coughed dramatically from the precinct steps, the single snort cut the diatribe off mid-flow. 

"I think this could be better handled in my office." 

Both officer and trainee quickly moved inside. 

"Ray!" Fraser said suddenly. 

"Was he here?" Elaine asked, she paused and considered. "Silly question." 

"Yes, I think he chased after the escapee. What exactly happened, Elaine, there seemed to be quite a lot of people jumping over me." 

"Huey and Reynolds's brought in some gang members and they started a fight in the corridor and some of them took the opportunity to escape." 

"Oh." Fraser said neutrally. "We'd better find Ray." 

They retraced Ray's footsteps until they found Ray leaning on the wall at the corner of Epsom and Restmore Avenue. His chest was heaving. 

"Did you catch him?" Elaine asked eyeing him with askance. 

"I've been up," Ray descended into coughing, "and down a thousand streets. God I need a cup of coffee." 

Coughing and wheezing, Ray staggered over to a vendor and gasped out an order for an incongruously large expresso. Between mouthfuls of the sharp black brew he gasped out questions. 

"You okay?" 

Fraser nodded. 

"He hit you pretty hard." 

"Officer Kirsty broke my fall." 

"Are you okay, Ray?" Elaine asked penetratingly. 

"Yeah." Ray drained the cup and held it out to the vendor for a refill. At Elaine's request the vendor provided another two cups and the threesome made their way to a convenient low wall. 

"Interesting way to start your day." Elaine said conversationally. 

* 

Ray sat even more sullen and uncommunicative at his desk rifling through his drawers in search of Louise St Laurent's currently most important document. Fraser carefully looked through Ray's filing cabinet - one day he was sure he would figure out Ray's system. 

"Do you think we can?" Fraser asked innocently. 

"Can what?" 

"Help Officer Kirsty. If I hadn't bumped into her, her first arrest would not have escaped." 

"DeMarco? Peter Alan's new lamb?" Ray asked absently. 

"Yes, Officer Alan's new trainee." Fraser then added correctly. "Officer DeMarco." 

"Hey, Fatty." Ray yelled across the station room. "How come your trainee didn't fasten the handcuffs properly? Didn't you check?" 

Officer Alan, who was anything but fat, bristled. "Any moron can fasten handcuff's." 

"You did check!" Kirsty interjected, a slight whine in her voice. 

"Kids." Alan said offhandedly and stormed out of the room. 

"He did!" Kirsty defended herself to the officers at large. "And I'd put them on _properly_." 

"Kid's gonna to get ribbed if she keeps this up." Ray said quietly. 

Fraser stopped searching through Ray's files, methodically searching was not the answer. Ray probably depended on divine intervention to find his reports. Officer Kirsty DeMarco was standing in the centre of the station room, demanding with her eyes that somebody believe that she was not incompetent. The detectives were ignoring her. Fraser found himself standing before the young woman looking down at her slight frame. She seemed far to small to be a police officer. 

"I think a cup of coffee would be a good idea." 

"Yes." She leaped at the opportunity to get out of the supercilious atmosphere in the station room. 

Fraser ushered the young woman, he was rapidly beginning to treat her as a child, into the coffee room. He plied her with coffee then sat opposite her. Her big blue eyes stared up at him, while there wasn't any tears welling in them, he knew she was more upset than was warranted. 

"He hates me," Kirsty said without preamble. "I don't care if it make me weak. I'm not putting up with this. I can quit and get a job teaching." 

"But you must have worked hard to get here." Fraser wondered where the conversation was going. 

"I passed my exams, I was top of the class, I know all about proving myself when _men_ don't think I'm capable of tying my shoelaces together. But he's a bigoted, xenophobic, misogynistic shit and I don't trust him to protect my little finger. He's going to get me killed." 

Fraser blinked. "They are serious accusations. Have you spoken to Lieutenant Welsh?" 

Kirsty batted her long eyelashes at him in a patently false manner. 

"You haven't spoken to Lieutenant Welsh." Fraser said pointedly. 

"He wouldn't listen." 

"You haven't tried. Lieutenant Welsh is an officer I would be happy to have as a superior. If you take your problems to him he would hear you out, objectively." 

"What planet are you from?" Kirsty stood up. "I am a woman; he is not going to listen to me." With that final parting accusation she stormed out in the same manner as Officer Alan. Ray side-stepped her, the detective wore a particularly irritating grin. 

"Enjoying yourself?" 

Fraser pointed futilely after the irate woman. "She..." 

"You can't help everyone, Benny. I've chatted with officer DeMarco and she an' Fatty Alan are well suited to each other. Alan doesn't believe woman are any use and DeMarco thinks men," Ray thought through his first meeting with the outwardly pretty Officer DeMarco, "are only interested in one thing." 

"Which is?" Fraser asked innocently. 

Ray shot him an incredulous glance "Ask your Dad next time he pops 'round." He said eventually. Ray waved a thick file in front of Fraser. "We can get out of here and I can read this in private before somebody makes me something else." 

They wended their way slowly out of the precinct. 

"Kirsty DeMarco strikes me as a confident albeit inexperienced officer who would rather die than make a mistake." Fraser persisted. 

"From first impressions." Ray interjected. 

"And Officer Peter Alan?" Fraser said leadingly. 

"Beat." Ray said candidly. "'cos he doesn't have the brains to get promoted rather than liking people. Hey, if he got through the exams he'd make an ideal chief of police." 

"You don't like him." Fraser said very quietly. 

"He doesn't like Italians." Ray said in a tone which should have made Fraser drop the subject. 

"Why?" 

Ray sighed, exasperated. "Some people you know would have found a job really easily in Germany in 1936. You might not understand it but you can be as sure as Hell that they would have found their vocation in life." 

Fraser considered Ray's words but they didn't make much sense. Naive most people called him, it wasn't that he was naive merely that he ignored the bad and cultivated the good and usually it flourished. However, he had never been able to wrap his head around the concept of bigotry. He knew intellectually that it existed but the emotional concept eluded him. Fraser bypassed the problem, as per usual, by ignoring it and returned to his initial thoughts, 

"Ray, the criminal the two officers arrested was handcuffed - we can accept that as said. He took advantage of the accident on the steps and escaped. So when did he become unhandcuffed?" 

"The handcuffs were not on properly." Ray said with the air of the abused. 

"Officer DeMarco said they were on properly." Fraser unerringly hammered his point home. "Officer DeMarco would rather die than look bad." 

"Where are you taking this, Fraser?" Ray asked. "You better not drag me off on one of your nut-ball adventures." 

"We have to figure out why Officer Alan unlocked the handcuffs and their charge didn't escape until the steps." 

"No, we don't." Ray picked up his pace leaving Fraser behind. Then he stopped mid-stride as the words sunk in. "Alan unlocked the handcuffs? Shit!" 

"Yes." Fraser caught up with his friend. "Officer DeMarco cannot hide her feelings, we have ample evidence of that, she couldn't lie about not fastening the handcuffs." Ray gripped Fraser's elbow and propelled him into their cupboard before Fraser could expand on the subject. 

"Do you know what you're saying?" 

"Yes," said Fraser, it struck him as a silly question. 

"You're saying that Fatty Alan's a bad cop." 

Fraser made a double take. "I did not. I said: Officer Alan unlocked the handcuffs." 

"Which amounts to the same thing." Ray warmed to his subject. "He probably unlocked them when he was in the police car - he always sits in the back with the perp - he lets his partner drive. Why would Fatty let his perp go? Must have had something on him. Why arrest him in the first place? Unless whoever it was made the deal in the unit. If that's the case why wasn't DeMarco in on it?" Ray continued before Fraser could add his two cents worth. "They could have stopped on the way to the station, for coffee or something and she came back before Fatty let him go. Yeah, but how do you explain escaping from a locked car? Best time to do a runner was on the steps. Alan explains it as his trainee's incompetence." 

Fraser felt his mouth drop open at the breath of the detective's extrapolation, as far as he could tell it covered all of the variables he was rather impressed. 

"We don't have any proof." Fraser pointed out. 

"We can't follow this up." 

"Why?" Fraser asked, surprised at his friend's definite tone. 

"Fatty and I have a history. If I go to Welsh it'll just look like I'm restarting the vendetta. We were partners once," Ray admitted as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms - his entire attitude defensive. "We had a few disagreements about his way of arresting people and I sicced Internal Affairs on him." 

_Day for revelations_ , Fraser noted, _it must have been pretty serious to get I.A. involved_. 

"Why is he still on the force?" 

"None of the witnesses corroborated my stories. I got a new partner - it made things a bit difficult in the station for a couple of years." Ray said with casual understatement. "Benny, I can't do anything about him 'cos it'll just look like I'm going for the small minded jerk again. Welsh knows what he is. Hey, I.A.'s probably got him under surveillance as we speak." 

"But, Ray..." 

"No, Benny, I'm not going down that road again." Ray said with finality. He kicked the cupboard door open and stamped out into the corridor. 

Peter Alan stood opposite the door with a licentious smirk on his long face. 

"Enjoying yourself in there, Vecchio." 

"Ray." Fraser said warningly. 

"We all know what you're up too." 

Ray strutted into Alan's personal space. "We solve crimes, Fatty. Maybe you've heard of it: arrest somebody; bring them in; book 'em. You don't let them go!" 

"Oh, dear." Fraser said as Alan blanched white. 

"Ha!" Ray said jubilantly. "I see I scored there. You don't have enough brains to be a bad cop - why don't you try to be a good cop?" 

Alan swore violently and expressively. 

"What did you call me?" Ray's voice echoed down the corridor drawing the attention of their fellow police officers. 

Fraser acted, he caught Ray by the collar and hauled him out of the beat officer's reach. In a single fluid motion he placed himself between Ray and Alan - hands outstretched warding the two combatants off. 

"Homo." Alan said unintelligently. 

Fraser's hand stopped Ray's forward lunge before it hardly started. If he had indeed reacted. 

"He's not worth it, Ray." Fraser said clearly. 

Ray glared at the crowd now surrounding them. "Damn right, he isn't." Back ram-rod straight, Ray stalked past the onlookers, daring them to say a word. 

Fraser thought it was possibly the most adult action he had ever see Ray do. 

"I wouldn't dirty my hands," was Ray's parting shot. 

Fraser caught up with Ray beside his beloved Riv. The detective was patently fuming, Ray's hazel eyes were looking for a victim and he centred on the bright red mountie before him. 

"What are you like!" Ray launched into a tirade as torrential as the falls of Niagara. "Fucking straight forwards but you get involved and it becomes..." 

Fraser allowed his friend to continue knowing full well if he didn't take his anger out on somebody who could cope with his vitriol the detective would inflict it on the next poor bankteller or sales clerk to cross his path. 

"When do you have to be at work?" Ray concluded. 

"I have the afternoon shift: guard duty." 

"So what else is new?" Ray said nastily. "Okay, we'll go to the park and read through this file. You can cross examine me so I don't make a fool of myself." 

"If I can be of help, Ray." Fraser said politely. 

"I'll buy the milk and coffee." Ray said by way of apology. 

Satisfied that his mercurial friend was now calm Fraser climbed into the car. 

* 

Fraser mused his way through his day's affairs, his thoughts a curious mismatch of words, emotions, feelings and images that occupied him when he was on guard duty. _Interesting case_ , Fraser thought to himself, _I liked the way that Ray used no logic whatsoever to solve it_. Keeping the dual conversation in his mind he rehashed Ray's 'interaction' with Officer Peter Alan. _We really should determine if Alan is accepting bribes. Ray is lucky that Officer Alan does not appear to be too bright \- then again most small minded people are not_. Fraser analysed Ray's reactions to the different insults that Alan had hurled at him. The Italian pejorative had not gone down very well at all, Fraser realised. _Complicated man_ , Fraser thought, _I wonder if Ray knows what he is going to do next? Thoughts switched track: I wonder how long Inspector Thatcher is going to keep me on guard duty this time?_ Fraser found that he couldn't even admit to himself that sometimes he found guard duty a bit of a chore - even if he was protecting his consulate. Below him, hiding under a convenient bench Dief whined a comment. 

_How was I to know that she doesn't like full cream milk? Although it seems a bit excessive to banish me out here for simply telling her that full fat milk is not really that fattening and the quantities that she drinks wouldn't make that much difference._

Dief just looked smug. 

_There is nothing wrong with that statement_ , Fraser defended himself, _Inspector Thatcher only drinks three cups of coffee a day_. 

Dief snorted and rolled further into the mid-afternoon shade. 

_Maybe Ray can explain it_. 

A glint of sunshine out of place drew his attention. He had a bare heartbeat to move before he felt the whisper of metal across his cheek then he realised that he was prone on the sidewalk and he had been for sometime. Dief whined loudly and pushed a wet nose in his ear. Fraser sat up, momentarily confused, then he remembered the rifle sights and the reflected sunlight. Dief sidled around him and stared directly into his eyes. 

"Where's my hat?" 

Diefenbaker sighed. The hat sat on the pavement beside them looking much the worse for wear. A chunk of stone was imbedded in the fabric. Gingerly, Fraser felt the back of his head, his fingers came away bloody. 

"Good job I was wearing it." Still sitting, Fraser twisted around and looked up at the hole on the stone wall of the consulate. 

"Ricochet," a familiar voice said sagely, "can be worse than the bullets themselves." 

"Hi, Dad." 

"Hi, son. It doesn't look that bad - a few stitches. The hat's dead though." Fraser senior grinned demonically, he crouched down on his haunches beside his son. "Will you bury it with full honours?" 

"Dad!" Fraser slapped at his father's hand as the mountie reached for the Stetson. 

Fraser senior shrugged and looked smug. "Are you going to do anything about the man who shot you?" 

"Yes, Dad. I suppose I better go catch him." Fraser said sounding a bit confused. 

"I don't think he's there anymore, son, he's had ample opportunity to shoot you and he hasn't." 

"Constable Fraser why are you sitting on the ground talking to yourself?" An arrogant voice interrupted. 

"Oh, dear." Fraser looked up at Inspector Thatcher who stood hands on her narrow hips, standing directly behind his father, her expression characteristically furious. _Why is she always angry at me?_

"Because she doesn't know how to treat you." Fraser senior inserted helpfully. 

"Sorry, ma'am, sir." Fraser corrected himself as he struggled to his feet. "Someone shot at me and they missed but they didn't miss the wall and the stone didn't miss me. Luckily my hat cushioned the blow. Unfortunately, I'll have to requisition a new hat..." 

"Somebody shot you!" Inspector Thatcher exclaimed. 

"No, they shot _at_ me." Fraser said pedantically. 

"You're bleeding." She darted forwards one eye on Fraser and one eye on the public, none of whom who had responded to Fraser's drop to the ground, searching for the culprit. Still scanning the area she ushered Fraser into the consulate. 

"See she does care, son." Fraser senior slipped through the door before she could close it, Dief at his heels. 

Inspector Thatcher was hollering orders up the impressive consulate staircase as she sat Fraser on the bottom stair. 

"I left my hat." Fraser said plaintively. 

"Stuff your hat." She snapped. 

Cold fingers with sharp nails twisted his head to the side and probed at the wound. Fraser hissed loudly as she fingered an extremely tender point. 

"Sorry," she apologised carelessly, "there may be a sliver of stone in here and you definitely need stitches. 

Constable Sturrock, with the consulate's massive first aid kit tucked under his arm, leaped the last few steps. Inspector Thatcher yanked it away from the energetic officer. 

"I rang the police and the paramedics," Sturrock hovered indecisively. 

"I don't need an ambulance." Fraser protested. 

"No, probably not." Thatcher said as she applied a gauze pad to the base of her officer's skull. "Sturrock cancel that ambulance and bring the car around to the back. We'll take him to the hospital. Keep Turnball and Evans on the roof looking for the marksman." 

"She's very efficient." Fraser senior said - hovering closely. "Although I don't think she's putting enough pressure on the wound." 

"She's pressing hard enough, thank you." Fraser said tightly. 

Constable Sturrock made a double take, as the resident first aider his hands had been visibly twitching with the need to do his duty. "I was only thinking that," he said close to tears. 

"I think there's a piece of stone embedded in the wound - I don't want to press down hard on it." Thatcher looked up from her administrations. 

There was a moments pause as both officers tried to determine why the conversation had started. 

"Sturrock, get the car." She finally ordered. 

"Yes, very practical woman. Keeps her mind firmly on the important issues." Fraser senior said. 

Fraser ignored him 

Sturrock stopped halfway up the stairs. "Do you want me to call Detective Vecchio? 

"He'll find out anyway." Thatcher said snarkily as she pulled Fraser to his feet. 

"If you could, please, tell him not to worry." 

"Bit cold hearted, though." Fraser senior added. 

* 

His coat flying open Ray raced into the Chicago Hospital emergency room. The casualty department was as busy as the police precinct. Ray forced himself past civilians to the administration desk. A quick flash of his badge and the nurse gave him directions to Fraser's treatment room. Avoiding desperately ill patients and harassed staff Ray ran down the corridor like a worried friend. 

"Hey, Benny, are you okay?" Ray yanked back the curtain sectioning off the individual cubicles. He flashed his badge at the nurse who immediately stopped working on Fraser. 

"Do you mind?" The nurse asked. 

"Sorry," Ray said offhandedly. "Benny, you all right?" 

Fraser, who had his face pressed into a pillow as the nurse stitched the back of his skull up grunted an affirmative. 

"Detective," the nurse finally got a glimpse of the badge when Ray stopped waving it around, "Vecchio, your friend sustained a minor laceration to the back of his head. Now if you would allow me to continue." 

"Benny, do you know who did it? 

Fraser lifted his head off the pillow. "No, Ray, they shot at me from a building across the street." 

"Any ideas who?" 

"Nothing immediate. Actually, it's all a bit of a blank. I haven't offended any officials for several months." Fraser controlled his habitual head twist to the side. 

"Old case?" 

"That is possible." Fraser changed the subject. "Have you seen Dief? Inspector Thatcher wouldn't bring him inside." 

"I saw Dief tied up outside; he wasn't very happy. I put him in the Riv. Did the Dragon Lady do that to him?" 

"Yes, I did." The curtain swished aside and Inspector Thatcher stepped into the cubical. "Dogs - wolves, whatever, are not allowed in medical establishments. 

"Do you mind?" The nurse practically swore. "You will leave me and my patient and wait outside. I don't care if you're the chief of police, do you want me to stitch his head up crooked?" He pointed with his forceps driving the two police officers out of the treatment room. 

"Benny, I'll be waiting outside." 

"Thank you kindly, Ray." Fraser said, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

Outside the cubicle, Thatcher crossed her arms and faced off against the detective. There was blood on her hands and blouse. 

"Was..? I... Sturrock said it wasn't serious." 

"Head wounds always bleed excessively," she said offering a small level of comfort. 

"Did you see what happened?" Ray moved into investigator mode. 

"No." Inspector Thatcher's attention shifted from Ray. "That's the doctor who attended to Constable Fraser." 

A fair haired doctor walked past them intent on a clipboard in his hands. Ray bounced to intercept him. 

"Can you tell me how Benton Fraser is?" 

The pleasant faced doctor paused, obviously used to fielding questions, he phrased his response carefully: "And you are?" 

"Ray Vecchio, Chicago P.D." He punctuated his sentence with another flash of his badge. "And you are?" "Doctor Greene. Constable Fraser is fine. Deep cut. There is a possibility of a concussion, although the Cat-Scan is clear. Are you on the investigation? Have you contacted any family members or close personal friends?" 

"Yes. Why?" Ray asked ever suspicious. 

"We will be allowing Constable Fraser to go home, assuming that there is someone who can stay with him in case of any complications." 

"I will," both officers said in tandem. 

They looked at each other and snarled: 

"I'm his superior officer; he's my responsibility." 

"I'm his best friend." Ray smirked. "Beat that one." 

"Why don't you ask Constable Fraser?" Doctor Greene asked. 

"Benny won't want to be any trouble. I'll just tell him it's happening." Ray said with a tone of finality which killed the conversation. 

* 

"That's one Hell of a bandage." Ray said as he drove the Riv with uncharacteristic care. 

Fraser fingered the dressing that enveloped the back of his head. "Yes, it seems a bit overstated." 

"Sore?" Ray asked as he indicated and slowly changed lane. 

"No. The novacaine hasn't worn off yet." Fraser gently moved his head from side to side. 

"Might hurt later. That's okay we've got plenty of aspirin at home." 

"Home?" Fraser ventured tentatively. The were driving through the suburbs of Chicago, it did not take a rocket scientist to figure out that they were heading towards Ray's family home. The prospect did not fill him with enthusiasm. 

"It's okay," Ray said understandingly, "Frannie visiting Ma's sister in Florida. Now that would be cruel. You don't think I'd inflict Frannie on you after you'd hit you head." 

"But..." Fraser began. 

"No, buts. Doc says you've got to be watched for forty-eight hours." Ray glanced sideways at Fraser. "There's no way out of this. I was at home when Sturrock rang - Ma took the message - you are staying at ours. Ma insists. Hey, she's already making the chicken soup." 

Fraser settled back, it was pointless to argue especially when Ma Vecchio had unloaded the artillery. Ray wasn't going to protest once his mother's hackles were up. Dief following his train of thought propped his nose on the headrest. 

"Yes, I know Mrs Vecchio's cooking is better than mine." 

* 

There didn't sound like there was any abatement in the noise levels without Frannie in residence. Fraser entered the house with something very like trepidation. While his head didn't hurt at the moment he suspected that once the painkiller wore off Ray's house would be the last place on earth he would want to stay. 

"Ma bambino," Ray's mother ran down the hall as soon as she heard the front door open, "are you all right?" 

The motherly woman restrained the urge to kiss the mountie at the last moment. 

"I'm fine, Mrs Vecchio. I was very lucky. I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience..." 

"No inconvenience. You need people around when you hit your head. I remember that list that the doctor gave you when you got that concussion, Raymondo." With that memory she drew her son into a hug. Ray dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. 

"Dinner ready?" Ray asked intentionally breaking the moment. 

"Yes, yes." She took Fraser by the elbow. "You eat as much or as little as you want. I won't be offended." 

The clamour in the dinning room died down the instant the mountie entered, then there was a moment of ear splitting noise as everyone asked: how he was; what had happened; who had done it... 

"Shut up!" Ray yelled. "If he hasn't got a headache by now you'll give him one!" 

Fraser allowed Mrs Vecchio to shepherd him to his customary seat. The noise subsided to far from normal levels as the Vecchio family continued their arguments without pausing for breath but in hissed whispers. It was all rather touching. 

"What would you like to eat, Benton?" 

Fraser wondered desperately what to say, he didn't want to hurt Mrs Vecchio's feelings but he didn't feel particularly hungry. 

"Ray mentioned chicken soup." 

"Yes! I said to Ray you'd like chicken soup." 

As she beetled out to the kitchen Ray traded an amused glance with him. 

* 

The bedroom was elegantly furnished but also warm and comfortable. If a tad ostentatious for Fraser's tastes. The double bed which dominated the room was enormous. 

"Ray, I can't take your bed." 

"'course you can." Ray yanked back the bed covers. "I'm going to sleep in Frannie's room. Hey, If you think you've got a headache now, try spending a night in Frannie's pink fluffy bed." 

Since he'd given in to everything else Ray had insisted that he do this evening Fraser subsided. 

"Aspirin." Ray plonked two into the glass beside his bed. They fizzed merrily. "Drink these and hopefully they'll take the edge off the headache I can see beating behind your eyes." 

He didn't like taking non-prescription drugs, which Ray knew. However Doctor Greene had had quite a long chat with Ray before he'd been discharged and Doctor Greene had said something about not using Neurofen or paracetamols. Therefore aspirin must have been acceptable to the doctor. Anyway they might work, Fraser noted. Ray dumped a pair a pyjamas on the bed - they looked as if they were made of silk. 

"I'll leave you too it. The tooth brush and cloth on the side of the bath are brand new. Ma has those sorts of thing in storage." Ray shrugged. "She sees a bargain and goes for it." 

Before Fraser could make his habitual objection or thank his friend, Ray darted out of the room to give him some privacy. Fraser stood somewhat in awe of the care and consideration the entire family had shown him. Even if Frannie were here tonight he knew that she wouldn't be making her play for him. Although the prospect of Nurse Frannie was terrifying to contemplate. Across the corridor he heard a door open. 

"Eeuy, even the dresser's pink and fluffy." 

* 

In bare feet, Ray silently slipped along the corridor to his room. He had left the door open so that he wouldn't disturb Fraser when he checked on him. The figure almost hidden under the blankets was sleeping on his front. Light from the corridor illuminated his face, turned to one side. Fraser had no doubt found that sleeping on his back would be difficult for a couple of days. Listening closely, Ray could hear rhythmic quiet breathing - the mountie was fast asleep. Diefenbaker, curled up on the bottom of the bed, regarded the detective with clear unblinking eyes. Ray watched for a long heartbeat and then strangely satisfied he turned away. 

"I thought you had to wake him?" 

Ray jumped, his mother had crept up behind him. Holding his chest dramatically, Ray got his breathing back under control. 

"What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?" 

"Raymondo, you are over-reacting. I thought you had to wake him?" 

"Yeah, well." Ray whispered. "I woke him at eight, ten, midnight and at two. I thought he could do with a few hours uninterrupted sleep. I'll make him read me my rights at six." 

* 

Holding his breath, Ray carefully pulled his bedroom door closed, trying not to wake the mountie who had slipped straight back to sleep. Diefenbaker, sitting at his heels, made some obscure comment but Ray didn't catch it. It probably had something to do with going for a walk. He hung up the 'do not disturb' sign that Maria's oldest had made for him after a particularly trying case and a riotous family argument and then slipped downstairs with Diefenbaker at his heels. Ma was making breakfast for the Vecchio horde. The smell of freshly ground coffee made him salivate. 

"How is Benton?" 

"Fine. I got him to spell 'Diefenbaker' and then told him that it was four. He went straight back to sleep." 

"Very sneaky." Ma handed over a cup of coffee. "I'm proud of you." 

"Yeah," Ray basked in the praise. "he would have got up otherwise." 

"You're up early after a disturbed night." 

Ray shrugged, it was like being on stakeout, and it had to be done. "I can go into work early and look through the database. See if anyone's out." 

Ma Vecchio's expression betrayed her confusion as she doled out breakfast cereal and fresh fruit. 

"See if any of Benny's old arrests are out of jail." Ray clarified snagging a bowl. "I think we can leave Benny sleeping 'till he wakes up now. If he hasn't moved by eleven check on him, Ma, would ya?" 

"If he hasn't woken by eleven I'll probably be phoning the paramedics." Ray laughed, as he practically inhaled his breakfast. Finished he pushed the bowl away and stood up. 

"When he gets up tell him the Dragon Lady's given him five days sick leave and not to come down the precinct." 

Dief barked. 

"I'll take Dief with me - keep him out of your hair and pantry." 

Ma Vecchio accepted her goodbye kiss with an indulgent smile. 

* 

Fraser awoke because his arms were outstretched and still on the bed. Momentarily disconcerted he opened his eyes, the beside lamp with frilly tassels added to his confusion. A collection of family photographs beside the bed answered his question before he could formulate it. _Ray's room_. The clock on the bedside table was turned face down and the batteries had been removed. _Ray's obviously not taking any chances on me being disturbed_. As Fraser reached the muscles in the back of his neck clamoured painfully, he froze as the day's events came back to him. 

"Dief?" 

Receiving no answer, Fraser decided that whatever time it was time it was time to get out of bed. The house felt silent and empty with an echoing quality unfamiliar to the mountie. There should have been a low hum of activity and conversation. It was missing. The street outside was quieter than normal. _Ray couldn't have got the entire street to be quiet. Could he?_ He wouldn't, in retrospect, put it past his friend. He could see him in his mind's eye, going from neighbour to neighbour, saying: Benny's hit his head; you have to be quiet; no ball games in the street. Smiling, Fraser threw back the covers and approached the day. The mirror on Ray's wardrobe showed a white drawn face above sumptuous emerald green pyjamas. Fraser paused viewing the figure, he could hardly wander around the Vecchio house in his bed clothes. He knew that he had carefully folded and placed his uniform on the end of the bed but now it was missing. He had no clothes and he could hardly wear Ray's without permission. His stomach grumbled oblivious to his sartorial concerns. Fraser crept from the room, hopefully he could find his clothes before the Vecchio family awoke. He padded downstairs without waking anyone. Ray was probably sleeping soundly: he had been up and down all night; he deserved a lie in. Fraser slipped into the kitchen and found Mrs Vecchio sitting by the kitchen table reading a magazine. 

"I thought..." Fraser glanced across at the kitchen clock, he had slept for over twelve hours - it was almost ten o'clock. 

"Good morning, Benton. I was just about to bring you breakfast." 

"I erm, didn't erm..." Fraser gestured down at his night clothes. 

"Your uniform's in the washing." 

Fraser looked across at the washing machine - red serge swirled inside. Fraser swallowed audibly but resisted the temptation to check what wash cycle Mrs Vecchio was using. 

"You should have said earlier." Mrs Vecchio chastised as she bustled over to the 'fridge. "Blood is a lot easier to get out if you can wash it straight away. I had to soak it in salt solution." 

Before he could apologise, offer to help, ask any questions. Mrs Vecchio pushed him to the kitchen table and proceeded to fatten the family mountie up. A full cooked breakfast appeared as if by magic. 

"Everyone's at work or at school. There's just you, me and Dani. Ray said not to worry and you have five day's off work." 

She stopped suddenly and caught Fraser under the chin angling his face towards the light. 

"You're a bit pale," she said critically. "Eat your breakfast." 

"Yes ma'am." Fraser attacked the bacon. The Vecchio family had effectively manipulated him so he would have to take at the very least the day off. He might as well enjoy it. 

* 

There had been a rather curious report on Ray's desk when he had arrived early at work. The uniformed police officers who had followed up on the shooting report at the consulate had found the bullet embedded in the wall and extrapolated that the shot had come from the roof opposite. Of course, the marksman had left but the two officers had found a lot of blood by a staircase leading up to the roof. They were at a loss to explain the blood except for the possibility that the gunman's weapon had backfired explaining why Fraser hadn't been executed as he lay unconscious on the sidewalk. Ray marked the report, as something to follow up on. No doubt once the mountie was up and about they would go to the roof and Fraser would explain everything in one single glance. Ray squinted at the computer screen mulling over his next step. Fraser could recall surprisingly little about the shooting, which Ray thought was one good reason to keep him at home - he obviously wasn't firing on all cylinders. The data search, of possible criminal releases, had also revealed no possible leads. Fraser's recent releases showed neither a history of violence or threats. And they were all up in Canada. Ray glared at Fatty Alan's back looking for a culprit. Fatty turned snakelike on his chair and stared expressionlessly at his nemesis. Passing between their line of sight, Elaine shuddered. His train of thought broken, Ray tapped idly at his computer. _Okay, one of my perps_ , he decided. Picking his way through the computer manual, Ray asked his questions. _Garbage in; garbage out._ The computer immediately crashed. Ray's eyes bugged, he could feel the veins throbbing at his temples. 

"Ray?" Elaine's voice interrupted the potential eruption. Taking a deep calming breath 

Ray closed the manual with finality. 

"Ray?" 

"Um?" Ray smiled crookedly up at Elaine who deposited a cup of coffee before him. 

"You look really tired - what's up?" 

Dief chose that moment to creep out from beneath the desk. Sitting on his haunches he demanded a stroke. 

Elaine complied. "Dief's here. Where's Benton?." 

"Fraser is at my place. Didn't I tell you?" Ray knew that he hadn't but here was the possibility of using Elaine's computer expertise. "Fraser is fine." Ray got that out of the way; he didn't want to alarm his prey. "Some bastard shot him last night. Ma's keeping him at home - got his serge on a continuous wash cycle." 

Ray watched intrigued as Elaine's expression passed through curiosity, worry, shock, and finished on amusement. _Can people read my expression as easily?_

*Yes.* a paternal voice echoed in his head. Ray stopped himself turning around. 

"Can you help?" Ray wheedled. "It keeps crashing." 

Sighing exasperatedly, Elaine pulled over her chair and crowded next to the detective. 

"You must have some kind of electric charge - nobody I know wrecks computers like you." 

A delicate waft of Anais Anais tickled his nose - Ray leaned forwards and inhaled appreciatively. His eyes met Fatty's over the top of Elaine's head. Fatty looked away utter disgust on his pallid features. _Sad bastard_ , Ray thought and dismissed him. 

"Nice perfume, Elaine." 

Elaine smiled. "Why, thank you kindly." 

Ray had arrested lots of people on ten years on the force - a lot of people who had since been released. The list of suspects was depressingly long. Ray ticked off potentially violent thugs as he mused on the possibility of Welsh allowing him to investigate this tenuous link. 

"Oooh," Elaine, rifling his desk looking for an idea, suddenly became excited, "we can cross reference marksmen, markspeople." She corrected herself. 

Ray slapped his forehead in disgust. He didn't know how he had missed that one. 

*Because you're pathetic* 

Ray gave up - he spun on his chair - to face the revenant. His father stood propped up against a filing cabinet, arms crossed, wearing that detested red leather jacket - he was a hideous figure of parental authority. 

"Do you want a coffee, Elaine?" Ray asked tightly - he had to get out of the squad room before he said something he regretted. Before Elaine could answer Ray practically ran from the squad room. 

"Hey, Ray." Elaine called out to his retreating back, "are you putting on weight?" 

* 

Carmine Vecchio was waiting for him beside the vending machine. 

*I saw that.* 

"Saw what?" Ray asked tiredly, reaching through his father's torso to feed the coffee machine some money. 

*You sniffing that...* 

"If you finish that sentence - I'll..." Ray couldn't finish his threat, Alan walked into the coffee room. _Madre de dios_ , Ray thought resignedly, _there is a Hell and I'm in it_. 

"Talking to yourself? Your sweetie mountie isn't here - is he." 

Ray curled his fingers tightly around the hot plastic cup. _There's nobody to stop me_. He gazed into Alan's long face cataloguing the piggy hateful eyes, the splayed nose and the prissy lips. _Some hot coffee would do much to improve those features_. 

Alan closed the coffee room door behind him. 

Ray glanced at him curiously; nobody shut the door. _Oh, God, he's going to *talk* to me. I can't face a: Peter "everyone hates me" Alan diatribe_. 

The coffee machine finally delivered Elaine's coffee Ray bent to extract it from the cantankerous machine when he realised that Alan was pointing his police issue at him. Ray straightened up slowly and turned to face Alan. The barrel pointed squarely between his eyes. Ray froze. No comments immediately came to mind - they only ever communicated in insults. _Not a good idea when the business end of gun is pointed in your face_ , Ray thought as he looked down the barrel. 

"I hate you." Alan shook his head insincerely as if that justified his actions. "I know." Ray said quietly, it was the most un-inflammatory response he could come up with. 

The barrel trailed its way down his face to rest in the hollow of his throat. The gun away from his eyes, Ray found himself focusing unerringly on Alan's face. A bead of sweat hung glistening on Alan's top lip. Ray controlled the urge to vomit. He swallowed convulsively and the barrel forced against his Adam's apple effectively gagged him. 

"You stupid git. You never know when to leave things alone. We were onto a good deal 'til you fucked it up. You're always doing that. You're not going to rat on me this time." Alan forced Ray's head upwards. Ray stared mutely up at him unable to talk. _Why doesn't a flat foot walk in?_

Alan rammed him hard up against the coffee machine. It rocked unsteadily splashing hot water down the back of Ray's trousers. The gun left his neck and drifted uncertainly down his chest to hover above his heart. The terror in his eyes was reflected in Alan's dilated pupils. Alan reacted to the fear. 

"You're the stupid one." 

The gun fired once. 

* 

Engrossed in his toes, the baby, Daniello, was happily occupied. His burbling was a pleasant counterpoint to Mrs Vecchio's domestic bustling. Fraser sitting crossed legged on the carpet rested back against the base of the sofa and watched his charge. As duties went it was fairly simple, an occasional tickle and cuddle kept Daniello a contented baby. Every now and again the little boy would attempt to roll over - soon Dani would be adding crawling to his repertoire. 

"Then you'll be all over the place." Fraser tickled a fat little tummy. Daniello laughed in response. 

A shudder walked up Fraser's spine. Daniello cried out. _Somebody just walked over my grave_. Fraser shook himself and then gathered little Daniello into his arms. The baby refused to be comforted. 

"There, there, Ray." Fraser murmured absently as he rocked little Dani. "It was just the cold North Wind." 

Dani's back arched and he glared at the mountie before letting out a piercing howl. 

"What brought this on?" Mrs Vecchio entered the sitting room wiping her hands on a cloth. She took her grandson, as he was lifted away from the mountie he promptly cried louder. Fraser raised his hands unable to verbalise the subtle rush which had unsettled both himself and the baby. Daniello's crying reached strident heights. Unable to comfort her grandson Mrs Vecchio handed him back to Fraser. 

"I'll get his bottle." 

Daniello's little fists gripped the lapels of Ray's pyjamas, he stopped crying and fixed his gaze on the mountie. Fraser looked down at Ray's eyes as Daniello hiccuped miserably. 

Carefully, Fraser climbed to his feet and crossed to the window. Something was wrong, he didn't know what but every sense he possessed was spurring him onto protect. Fraser twitched back the curtain and scrutinised the street: nothing suspicious moved. Daniello cradled against his shoulder, Fraser patrolled the house checking windows, doors, garden. The house was secure. Fraser hovered next to the 'phone debating with himself whether or not to ring Ray. However, he couldn't deny that he had not found anything wrong. 

"What's the matter, Benton?" 

Fraser placed the 'phone back on the cradle. 

"I felt..." Fraser contemplated his words uncertainly, "that there was something amiss." 

"Come on," Mrs Vecchio drew her charges into the kitchen, "we'll have a nice cup of tea." 

* 

Fraser made a pretence of sipping and stirring but left the tea undrunk. Only the now quiescent Daniello on his lap stopped him pacing like a cat on a hot tin roof. Mrs Vecchio was watching him with undisguised concern. Fraser attempted a smile, it came out rather strained. When the door bell finally rang it was almost a relief. Mrs Vecchio beetled to the door. Fraser caught himself reaching for her - he stopped himself physically grabbing Ray's mother. In a instant she was out into the hall. Fraser caught up with her at the front door. The flat of his hand slammed against the lock catching her fingers. 

"Don't." Fraser said tonelessly. 

Her eyes widening in alarm, Mrs Vecchio pulled her hand away and stepped back. 

"It's a policeman, Benton." She said quietly. 

The unmistakable silhouette of a policeman's cap was plainly visible through the pebbled glass in the centre of the door. Fraser slipped on the chain, an unnecessary precaution given the number of locks Ray had installed on the door. 

Mrs Vecchio stood her demeanour calm and open. "There is a policeman at the door - he might be here about Ray." 

"Yes." Fraser said absently. 

"Will you give me Dani, please?" 

"Yes, that's a good idea." Actions suited words as Fraser handed his godson across to Mrs Vecchio. "Go upstairs, Mrs Vecchio, lock yourself in your bedroom and 'phone the precinct." 

Mrs Vecchio clutched Dani to her bosom. Then she straightened coming to a decision. "Benton, you hit your head yesterday and you're acting very strangely." She stepped close to her son's best friend and gently touched his arm. An authoritarian tattoo on the door interrupted any more words. 

"Mrs Vecchio? I'm here about your son." The officer called. 

Her expression tortured, she turned to the door, her hand raised to open it. 

"Mrs Vecchio, ma'am," Fraser's mind churned indecisively: Yes, he had indeed suffered a blow to the head; it was not improbable that it may have affected his judgement. The cold feeling of dread was possibly attributable to a simple wintry draft. In August. 

The door chain fell away. 

"Ma'am, if there was something wrong Lieutenant Welsh would come 'round himself." 

* 

"Ray? Are you okay?" 

A gentle hand on his chest brought his immediately and painfully awake. Ray screamed castratedly as his chest rippled with agony. Pain blurred his vision. Gritting his teeth, Ray froze. 

"Ray?" The same gentle hand touched his face then carefully unfastened his shirt. 

"Uh, huh?" Ray managed to groan. 

"Somebody's shot you!" 

It was Elaine's voice, Ray realised. 

"My God! How many flak jackets are you wearing?" 

"Two," Ray whispered, "it seemed like a good idea." 

Velcro hissed and buckles loosed, taking away the flimsy support, Ray felt the hideous sensation of his ribs realigning back to their original position. 

"What's this?" 

Ray opened his eyes and regarded his father's trophy plate with a great deal of amusement. Awarded for wining a pool tournament it had been his pride and joy. A dent distorted the plate and in the centre was a small hollow containing a flattened bullet. 

*Look what you did to my plaque!* A familiar voice rose stridently. Muttering imprecations to himself, Carmine Vecchio stepped through the wall. Ray heaved a sigh of relief, then wished he hadn't. 

"Oh." Elaine said sympathetically, commiserating with his pain. 

Very carefully, Ray lifted his head, the entire left hand side of his chest was a single massive bruise. 

"Touch that and I will scream." Ray said tightly. 

"My God, what happened?" 

"Fatty Alan shot me at point blank range." 

"What did you say to him?" 

Ray hissed, exasperated. 

* 

"What are you two doing?" Welsh stepped around his two officers who were both on the floor of the ratty canteen. He towered them, his expression mock censorious rather than disgruntled (Vecchio could never tell the difference). Whatever they were up too - the explanation ought to be good. And even more surprisingly the mountie couldn't be involved this time since he was safely under the inimitable Mrs Vecchio's wing. 

Ray disengaged Elaine's hand and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. "Oh, God, God, God." Ray's teeth chattered 

"God!" Welsh blasphemed, seeing the bruise. 

"Help me up." Ray hissed to them both. 

"Here." Welsh caught Ray under the arms and bodily lifted his detective onto one of the plastic coffee room chairs. Ray came so close to passing out that Welsh had to support him. 

"Fatty shot him," Elaine supplied. 

"Why?" Welsh asked as he crouched down next to Ray. Vecchio's face was a tight mask of pain as he supported himself against a stained coffee room table. 

"Benny and I bloody well figured out that he'd let Kirsty's prisoner go free." Ray squirmed uncomfortably. "I didn't have any proof but Fatty obviously decided to get rid of me before I could." 

"And you knew this was going to happen?" Elaine said incredulously, brandishing the dented plate in Ray's face. 

Ray batted it away. "No! I just thought if someone was shooting at Fraser \- I might be next. Seemed like a freakin' good idea." 

"Where's Alan now?" Welsh asked logically. 

"I've no idea. I've been unconscious, lying on the floor of the coffee room." Ray said acidly. 

"Alan said he was going to check on Kirsty - she didn't come in today." Elaine volunteered. "He said that she'd complained of a headache yesterday." 

"Alan wouldn't care a flying..." 

"Ray..." Welsh said warningly. 

"...it was obviously an excuse to get out of here." 

"Where's he gone?" Elaine asked. 

"He thinks I'm dead. Bullet, point blank range - go figure." Ray abruptly paled. "Shit, shit, shit!" 

Welsh automatically reached for him thinking he was going to faint. Ray leaned heavily on the table and levered himself painfully to his feet. 

"Ray, sit down; you'll hurt yourself!" Elaine ordered. 

"You don't understand! Fraser. He'll have gone after Benny!" Ray said plaintively. 

"Does he know where Fraser is?" Welsh asked. 

"Yeah. I told Elaine seconds before I came in here for coffee. He must have heard everything. Here I been chatting away, when..." Ray berated himself. "Oh, Holy Mother Mary..." 

Welsh honestly thought that the detective was going to have a stroke \- all the colour drained from Ray's face. 

"Ray, sit down." Welsh ordered. 

"You're not listening." Ray screamed. "Fraser's at home with Ma and Dani!" 

* 

The bullet smashed the window. Pebbled glass scattered though the hall. Fraser had swung Mrs Vecchio with Dani in her arms out of the way as the shadow of a gun had moved across the window. Mrs Vecchio stumbled momentarily at the bottom of the stairs. Fraser caught her and bodily carried both Mrs Vecchio and Dani up the stairs. Behind them the gun fired again smashing more glass. Fraser cast a glance at the door as he propelled Mrs Vecchio onto the first landing, a blue sleeved arm reached through the frame and struggled with the locks. 

"What's Ray's fire route?" 

"Paulie's room. Onto the kitchen roof and down the trellis." 

Ray's obsession with his family's safety might save them yet. Fraser knew the lay out of the Vecchio home. Know your escape routes, was a learned routine which had become unconscious over the years. Parties, barbecues, simple visits had allowed him to study the house and garden on numerous occasions. Grunting, he overturned an old squat wardrobe barricading Paulie's door shut. He turned to check on Mrs Vecchio wondering momentarily what to do, as she wasn't the most athletic of people. She had already opened the bedroom window and clambered out onto the gently sloping roof. Fraser scrambled to join them. 

"I can't do this, Benton." Mrs Vecchio said simply. 

"Yes, you can. You brought Ray up. You can do anything!" The comment drew the required smile. "I'll jump down and you can drop Dani down to me." 

"What?" Mrs Vecchio stepped back 

"Please, ma'am, I will catch him." Fraser peered over the edge, "it's only a couple of meters." 

"No, no, no..." 

Fraser leaned forwards earnestly. "Then give me Dani and I will climb down the trellis." 

"You..?" 

Then they heard Paulie's door rock on its hinges. A dull repeated thud told them that the door was being kicked repeatedly. 

"Please ma'am, whoever that is they're inside, we can be at your neighbours in a matter of seconds." 

Mrs Vecchio did not hesitate, poker faced she passed Dani to him, giving the child a final squeeze. The baby's eyes were wide, even at a few months old he was picking up on the terror filled atmosphere around him. Fraser nodded, accepting that as Mrs Vecchio saw it, it was kin selection: the young would survive. As Fraser saw it, he would save Dani and then his best friend's mother. Fraser leaped from the roof. Mrs Vecchio's shocked gasp echoed in his ears. The ground rose up and met him, Fraser moved fluidly, bending his knees and somersaulting forwards, absorbing the impact on his shoulder. Dani, protectively cradled in his arms, suddenly giggled loudly. Fraser rolled smoothly to his feet. Mrs Vecchio stood above him - a shocked caricature: her hands clasped over her mouth. 

Fraser smiled as winningly as possible up at Mrs Vecchio. 

"You can climb down now, ma'am." 

Mrs Vecchio dropped her pose and clambered inelegantly onto the trellis \- inexpertly feeling for the wooden slates with her foot. 

"Yes - that's right. Just below you. Excellent." Fraser encouraged, talking Mrs Vecchio down step by agonising step. 

There were no more noises from Paulie's room. Finally, Mrs Vecchio reached the ground. Fraser caught her by the elbow, steered her around a children's climbing frame she seemed intent on grabbing and headed towards the heavy bushes at the back of the garden. 

"Freeze!" 

They froze. Mrs Vecchio stopped so abruptly that Fraser almost fell over her. Dani wailed stridently in his arms. Utterly terrified, Mrs Vecchio turned, her eyes widened as she looked around Benton's shoulder. Responding to her fear Fraser thrust little Dani into his Grandmother's arms. 

"Go." he mouthed. 

He turned, arms raised placing himself between Mrs Vecchio and their foe. Fraser allowed himself only a moment shock at the uniformed police officer standing before him. Obviously Alan had shot him yesterday, the question was: why? Officer Peter Alan's expression was taut and manic, concerned only with himself. The gun in his hand wavered uncertainly. 

"Hello." Fraser said calmly. 

Behind him gravel skittered under foot as Mrs Vecchio backed towards the bushes. Fraser stepped forward and the gun trained on him. "You don't want to do this." Fraser smiled. 

"And why do you think that?" Alan asked befuddled by his victim's open manner. 

"If you really wanted to kill me," Fraser said logically, "you would have finished me off outside the precinct." 

"Kirsty's not here, mountie." Alan said nastily. 

Fraser's lips whitened as he thought of Officer DeMarco's prophetic words a mere twenty four hours ago. _She must have followed him onto the roof_. It didn't take much imagination to guess what must have happened next. 

"This is a mistake; you can't hope to get away with this." Fraser edged forwards ensuring that the gun remained pointed at him. 

"Really?" Alan said patronisingly, "and who's going to stop me?" He raised the gun and pointed it between Fraser's eyes. Fraser had the strangest sensation of _deja vu_. 

"Ray." He said quietly. 

"'fraid not. Dealt with him." Alan grinned. 

Somewhere a bright light went out throwing a previously warm room into darkness, 

"Why?" Fraser asked simply. 

"Because I hate him. Because he was going to ruin everything again." 

_Keep him talking, give Mrs Vecchio time to get away_ , Fraser thought, _he's already killed two... Change track, Benton_ , he told himself, _deal with it later. Mrs Vecchio and Dani are the important ones_. 

"Why wait until now? I was given to understand that you've both had a disagreement going for several years." 

"You!" 

Fraser blinked. "Me?" His confused expression enraged Alan. 

"It was okay when he was a sad, lonely bastard." Alan's finger tightened on the trigger. 

"You killed Ray because he made me his friend?" Fraser said disbelief in his voice - unable to maintain his emotionless facade. 

"You took away my revenge. He ruined my life and I ruined his. His wife left him, you know, after he ratted on me to I.A., the bastard. Everyone at the precinct made his life shit. Nobody would partner him. Then you come along Little Red Riding Mountie. You pick the most small minded shit in the precinct and become bosom buddies." 

"So you killed him." Fraser tasted the words in his mouth. The flat, dead, feeling in his stomach made him deny Alan's malicious words. _I would know if Ray was dead_ , Fraser thought. _I would. I would_. 

A rustle in the bushes told Fraser that his best friend's mother and nephew had almost escaped. Alan's eyes narrowed. 

"Do you think I'm stupid, Mountie?" Alan said in a sing-song voice. "Oh, Mrs Vecchio, come here." 

She whimpered - from Dani there was no sound. Fraser stopped himself turning, he had to keep Alan distracted. All the advice, from countless training sessions, had seemingly evaporated. A quiet unfamiliar voice said: _keeping him talking_. 

"You shouldn't have killed Ray." Fraser said quietly. 

"I had to do it," Alan ranted. "you'd get him involved and you would both keep picking away until you got me." 

"I assume you're referring to the pay-off you received from the gang member to ensure his release." 

"See! You know what I did." 

"Well, yes, you have a point." Fraser admitted slowly. He moved slightly keeping Alan's attention firmly riveted on him. The psychotic's arm would be getting tired soon and the opportunity to take this murderer into custody would be very welcome indeed. 

"You're agreeing with me?" 

"Obviously. Ray and my reputations are well known." Fraser said. "Although, I believe that Ray and I operate synergistically." 

"Eh?" 

"Well." Fraser said edging closer, "he did make detective before he met me; so he can't be that pathetic." The implied insult was devastatingly delivered. 

"Fuc..." 

Fraser stepped under Alan's arm forcing the gun up with his shoulder. The bullet discharged harmlessly into the air. A knee deliberately placed dropped Alan to the ground as if poleaxed. _Grandmother would not have approved_ , Fraser thought, _but it is the best way to end this_. Implacable, Fraser trod on Alan's wrist until the bones grated under his bare foot. The gun fell away from nerveless fingers. 

"I am making a citizen's arrest." Fraser said coldly. 

Curled up at his feet - Alan glared dazedly up at his new nemesis. 

"Benny!" 

The voice was unmistakable. Fraser drew in a long calming breath and looked down at the sorry man beneath him. The sick feeling in his stomach evaporated as if by magic. "I'm so glad you can't do anything right." He said with calculated venom. 

Ray came screaming around the corner of his home, gun out, shirt flapping open and his expression murderous. Fraser allowed himself an open wide smile. The superlative Ray Vecchio stood before him, the antithesis of the mould that Grandmother Fraser had forced a small child to conform too. Ray skidded to a halt beside them - he was still waving his gun around. Mrs Vecchio launched herself into her son's arms babbling. Ray automatically hugged his mother and nephew to him murmuring nonsensical endearments. Fraser watched, as he leaned his weight on Alan's wrist, musing that he rather felt like a hug himself. Uniformed police officers and what looked like half of Ray's squad room colleagues arrived en mass. Welsh and, surprisingly, Elaine in the lead. Fraser wondered what sort of picture he made, standing on Alan like some Great White Hunter. 

"Looks like Ray has a lot of friends." Fraser said conversationally to the man still cowering beneath him. Slowly Fraser lifted his foot from Alan's wrist - releasing him to Welsh's custody. 

"Are you all right?" Welsh asked breathlessly. 

Fraser ignored the question. "I think," he said soberly, "you'll find that he has murdered Kirsty in addition to attempted murder. I don't know what he has done with her body." 

Welsh hauled Alan to his feet and then launched him none too gently into Huey's arms. 

"Get this...bastard out of my sight." 

Fraser stepped back and watched the scene - distant and aloof. Huey frog-marched the stumbling Alan from the garden as Welsh turned his back on them to debrief some police officers who were obviously confused that the uniformed police officer was being arrested and his assailant was left untouched. Ray released his mother and screaming Dani into Elaine's tender care with a swift nod to the house. The civilian aid took the distraught woman by the shoulders and walked her towards the kitchen and a nice cup of tea. Ray, sapped of fear fuelled adrenaline, limped over clutching painfully at his ribs. 

"You all right?" He demanded, his eyes raked the mountie from head to toe. 

"I'm glad to see that you're not dead, Ray." Fraser said sincerely. 

"Me too." Ray grinned momentarily, then his expression shifted to outright concern. 

"You sure you're all right?" 

"What happened to your side, Ray?" 

"Alan shot me. It's just a bruise, I was wearing a couple of vests." 

"A couple?" 

"Yup." Ray sagged against one of the children's climbing frames. Then he actually grinned at Alan, hunched over, being dragged away by Huey. "You kneed him?" 

Fraser wondered at the levity, then he realised that Ray didn't know about Kirsty - yet. 

"The situation demanded it." Fraser said phlegmatically. 

"Wow." 

* 

Kirsty's funeral was a solemn affair - she had only been in the force for a couple of weeks - but there was already talk of presenting a posthumous Medal of Valour. An entire class of grey faced trainees watched the casket with wide open eyes. It was a lesson that Ray would have hoped that they wouldn't have learned for a few more months, if not years. The pastor's words were uncomforting - the man had never known the complicated woman he was honouring. _At least when I die_ , Ray thought depressingly, _Father Behan will speak the truth_. A macabre grin crossed his face. Fraser peaked a quizzical look at him, resplendent in his dress uniform. Ray shrugged - _tell you later_ , he said silently. Fraser bowed his head back in prayer. Ignoring the insincere priest, Ray let his attention drift, it would do Kirsty no disservice. The entire precinct was in shock and some anal police psychologist had went on at length about that damage Alan had caused to the supervisor/trainee relationship. The psychologist was right, Ray admitted to himself, but he didn't want to listen and avoided him at every opportunity. The guy almost had a six-sense for accidentally on purpose intercepting him in the squad room, corridor, canteen... However, the broom cupboard was proving very useful and nobody was apprising him of Ray and Fraser's hidey-hole. The casket was lowered, breaking Ray's train of thought, and the salute was fired. The crowd waited until Kirsty's distraught mother was led from the scene and then slowly began to disperse. Ray cast a sideways glance at Fraser \- almost missing the mountie wiping at his cheek. 

_Do I say anything? What do I say?_ Ray reflected hollowly. _Oh, God..._

"I guess there's only clichs..." Ray began. 

Fraser's brow furrowed in question. 

"...we should have said something; it shouldn't have come to this." 

Fraser remained silent. In retrospect, Ray suddenly realised, Benny had been incredibly reticent over the last week, to the point that he hadn't done much more than acknowledge people when they spoke to him. Everyone had been so wrapped up in their own thoughts that they had missed his deathly silence. The problem was that most people respected Benny's sublime need for privacy - when he really needed to talk things through. _Hey, but what's a best friend for?_ Ray thought. Fraser suddenly shot a concerned glance at him. 

"You know - you're not half a stupid as you think you are." 

Ray blinked. "Thanks, I think! What the Hell do you mean by that?" Only the surroundings stopped him from shrieking. 

"Well, there I was accepting responsibility for this..." Fraser gestured at the open grave. "And feeling awful for being 'happy' that it's not you in there. And you just made me realise that you're thinking the same thing." 

"I did?" 

"I don't think we'll ever stop feeling guilty for not doing something about Alan when we figured out that he was accepting bribes." Fraser sighed, forlornly. 

Ray could see that the hidden, emotional, Fraser, occasionally glimpsed, was emerging, akin to a mysterious behemoth, usually down in the abyssal ocean depths, rising to the water's surface. It was necessary and scary. 

"...could we really expect him to try and kill us?" Fraser finished. 

Ray shoved his hands deep into his pockets - it was very sobering to think that somebody could hate you enough to want to kill you. 

"No. Not in a million years." 

Fraser stepped close to the edge of the grave. "I'm sorry, Kirsty. And thank you for saving my life." His head dropped onto his chest a single tear leaked down his cheek. Ray looked at the tableau before him and strove to break it. 

"Come on, Ma wants us to baby-sit Dani and the kids. She thinks it will do us some good. We'll get _'Babe'_ out on video." Ray cajoled. 

Fraser tossed his handful of earth on the coffin and turned to join his waiting friend. 

_fini_

* * *


End file.
